


wait with good intentions

by imaginarykat



Category: Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Some Kind Of Vague Domestic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarykat/pseuds/imaginarykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's different than waking up on his own, in his own bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wait with good intentions

**Author's Note:**

> [ORIGINALLY POSTED ON [TUMBLR](http://imaginaryanon.tumblr.com/post/135811852908/wait-with-good-intentions)]

It's different than waking up on his own, in his own bedroom.

For one, the entire right side of his body hurts like a motherfucker, because why take off his cybernetic arm when he can just fall asleep on top of it and regret all of his decisions and piss poor life choices later, right? Past Rhys is a real bro, present Rhys thinks and winces as the arm pulls at his strained muscles.

It takes tremendous effort for him to force his eyes open, but as soon as he does so, a small smile crawls its way onto his lips without any conscious effort on his part. He's draped over Jack, their legs tangled together, Jack's arms carefully wrapped around Rhys and his nose buried in Rhys' hair. Rhys can feel him breathing, each long sigh a pleasant, feather-light tingle brushing the top of his head. He watches Jack's chest heaving, up and down, inhale and exhale, lies like this for a long while, doesn't want to disturb the moment.

He tips his head a bit to stare up at Jack's face and inhales deeply. Jack doesn't smell of home and warmth, not exactly. He smells like smoke and electricity, like air after a storm, fresh but heavy, danger and an intangible power that pulls people towards him, a black hole and a burning star both. Now, though, the air about him is soft. He looks calm, almost gentle, with strands of his perfect hair a mess over his eyes. Rhys reaches out with his left hand before his mind even registers he's doing anything, brushes the hair out of Jack's face, lets his fingers linger just for a moment to softly touch Jack's cheek.

This never happens when the both of them are fully awake and sober, not when they’re working and not in their free time. They talk in light quips and smug smiles, jokingly bounce insults off each other, laugh, kiss, have sex whenever Rhys _conveniently_ happens to stay at Jack’s place. Jack's not exactly one for tender moments, though, and it's not like Rhys holds it against him. Sure, it would be... something to know Jack's feelings, but the man might as well be allergic to them. Rhys has given up trying to get him to talk about it.

If the intimate touches and tender late night moments are all he gets out of it, then so be it. He'd handled his cybernetic surgeries, he can handle his stupid heart trying to burst out of his chest whenever he looks at Jack.

Rhys kisses Jack's chest, more of an absent-minded drag of his lips than anything else, and sighs. As much as he’d like to stay like this forever, the warm pull of Jack’s arms keeping him in place in the soft sheets, he probably won’t be able to move _at all_ tomorrow if he doesn’t detach the arm now. Rhys feels both light and incredibly heavy and he’s almost willing to overlook the itching pain at the joint of his shoulder, but he’s a _responsible adult_ , dammit, and he’s going to act the part.

He groans, a small, upset sound, and starts untangling himself from the mess of Jack's limbs. He props himself up on one elbow and hisses, drags a hand down his face. His eyes are trying to shut and he rubs at them, groans again. There's not a single muscle in his body that wants to move, everything feels groggy and exhausted and _warm_ , and Jack's sleepily trying to grab him and pull him back. Rhys smiles at him, feels his eyes crinkle.

Well, the sooner he deals with this, the sooner he can get back to sleeping. He turns to sit at the edge of the bed with a sigh and freezes, lets out a low whistle.

A room with a view doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s bedroom. One entire wall is made out of glass, and the sight is breathtaking. Rhys hesitates, then moves to sit cross-legged on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, and just stares into the impossibly vast space stretching before him. It's not that he hadn't seen this before; some weeks he’d spend more time at Jack’s place than his own. It's just that... there never was quite enough time to stop and look. Jack was always in a hurry, always busy, always working, always doing something. Rhys couldn't help but follow suit.

His eyes are drawn to a flashing point somewhere in the distance. It might be a shuttle, or maybe a comet; he can't be arsed to check via his ECHO eye, so he just follows it, lazily observes as it flickers in and out of view.

"Cool," he mutters to himself, and flinches when he hears a low chuckle behind his back. He turns to look at Jack. The man's lying on the side, staring at Rhys with only one eye open, a sleepy, relaxed expression on his face.

"Enjoying the view?" Jack gives him the tamest, laziest version of his trademark shit eating grin. "I know I am," he says, pointedly staring at Rhys' ass.

Barely even conscious and still an asshole. Unbelievable.

"Way to ruin the mood there," Rhys says, gives Jack a fond smile before he goes back to staring at the stars.

There's a faint rustle of sheets behind him and the bed dips a bit as Jack moves closer to him, hooks a possessive arm around his middle and tries to pull him back.

"C'mere," Jack demands, a slurred whisper, and Rhys could get lost in his voice, in his tone softer than anything an awake Jack would ever allow himself.

Rhys puts his hand over Jack's on his stomach, laces their fingers together and sits like this, with Jack wrapped around him, radiating warmth, and with galaxies of stars just behind the window. Rhys could stay like this forever, but another unintelligible whine from Jack finally makes him give in.

He unlocks the cybernetic arm, disconnects the wires and unhooks it from its socket, then carefully places it beside the bed. He turns around and lets Jack gather him closer to his chest again. His hand starts tracing patterns on Jack's shoulder until the man's breath evens out again. Rhys rests his head on Jack's shoulder, smiles at how even muddled with sleep, Jack still pulls him closer, both arms on Rhys' back, soft but unrelenting presence.

Rhys drags Jack's hand to his face, lightly kisses his knuckles, then murmurs a soft "I love you" against his fingers, silent, testing. Jack's still asleep, not in the slightest moved by this, and Rhys smiles.

Maybe this is enough.


End file.
